


Against the Odds

by Anonymous



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmates, kinda redemption fic for azog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 08:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Azog has a change of heart when he spots his One flailing over the edge of a cliff with a group of dwarves.





	Against the Odds

Azog loomed over his greatest enemy. His pulse was cacophonous in its victory—there was something very satisfying that came with the capture of a long-time nuisance. Oakenshield was a pain in Azog's side for longer than he cared to admit. In the end, the dwarrow meant nothing to him. He would not give the so-called king under the mountain the _honor_ of dying by Azog's own hand. His lips drew into a smirk—the taut, scarred lines of his flesh warped his smile into something grim and dark, as it was supposed to be.

Azog turned to order his general to bring Oakenshield's head to him, but spotted something in the trees. At first, he didn't understand what caught his attention. The loud, panicky dwarrows hanging onto the tree screamed obscenities at him—raising their voices as their fists were busy clenching tightly over the branches, slowing their inevitable fall. It was among those furious faces and self righteous scowls that he saw it.

A creature of no more note than a fly. Yet, Azog's eyes could not move away. The creature—the halfling—whipped its curls from its face. Through the sweat and grit and smoke, its eyes bored into his.

Azog's breath was yanked from his lungs as a keen, fragile stirring amassed in his chest cavity.

The forces at work which had twisted elves into orcs was very thorough—orcs were, for all intents and purposes, now a completely different species than elves. However, there was one part of their creation that didn't change. For every elf brought into the world ready to find their One—the mate and equal of their soul—so too did an orc. The people of Middle Earth likely thought a orc with a One was a rare thing, but it was quite the opposite. An orc was just as likely to have a One as any other being, if not meet them. Orcs were a tortured race in that regard; feeling the stirrings of the One, only to feel them die scant moments later. One orc could not convey to an entire pack that somewhere in the village they were sent to take was their mate. Hundreds of orcs had suffered though the snuff of their One.

Azog shook himself of his musings. With a frightening clarity he'd been lacking as of late, he realized he didn't want to be one of those orcs.

Azog steadfastly ignored his general, and dismounted from his warg. She growled with a questioning lilt but didn't pursue him. Azog stared hard at his One as he approached.

The hollers of the dwarrows pitched, frenzied, as Azog stood over the fallen form of their king, then stepped deliberately over and away from him to get to the tree. Shouting became subdued murmurs of confusion. The halfling's eyes were will on Azog, but there was something missing. The closer Azog got the more sure he was that no light shone in those eyes to reflect his own realization.

Azog's steps hesitated on the trunk of the tree as he was forced to consider something he hadn't thought of before.

Did halflings have Ones?

The stabbing pressure in Azog's chest was instinctual. He didn't need to think to know what the halfling was to him. That in itself didn't mean that halfling felt the same way. Its eyes settled on him but were only reflecting the same mute panic, fury and confusion of the dwarrows surrounding it.

Azog was about step back when he picked up something else in the halfling's large doeful eyes—exhaustion. Beads of sweat trickled down its temple. Its hands grabbed desperately at the branch it hung from, but its grip was loosening. Its entire body was held taut, frightened, and—perhaps worst of all—resigned.

Molten resolve filled Azog. He stepped purposefully onto the tree and made a slanted ascent. The fire burned bright and painfully hot around him, but he strode to his One with no thought to the minor scuffs and burns he was receiving. He stood over the halfling. It swallowed dryly up at him and its tiny fingernails dug into the bark.

Azog's own throat worked in a noiseless swallow, and he reached down, grabbed the halfling under its arms, and brought it up towards him.

"Oh my! No! Put me down at once!" it yelped. Its feeble, weak arms batted uselessly at Azog's own, and he adjusted his grip as to not stab the little thing as he brought it off of the tree. It huffed but stilled as Azog placed it gently down back onto the ground. Its head whipped up and it stared at him incredulously. He gave an answering snort—too choked up to properly reply, and was deeply unamused when his general came toddling up beside them, his own weapon drawn.

 _"What is your command?"_ Zolag demanded.

Azog's claws twitched in irritation at the insubordinate tone of his general, but paused. The halfling flinched twice, the first at Zolag's appearance, and a second time at the general's use of black speech. The last thing he needed right now was a scared One, and so Azog dutifully refrained from striking his general's head until it was a sloppy, delicious mush for the wargs. _"My command is that you go back to the mountains."_

The other orc puffed up, ready for a fight. He opened his mouth wide to show off his canines, but Azog was spared from receiving a solid reply when Zalog was soundly plucked right from in front of him by a giant eagle, and sent sailing over the side of the ravine.

Fantastic.

Azog's pack began shouting and running amok as the dwarrows once had, bumping into each other in their haste to either run or draw their weapons to try getting a stab at the eagles. He watched with growing resignation as his idiot of a pack swung their daggers, swords and maces up at the sky, only to be picked up and thrown as their swipes arced back down. Azog briefly contemplated why he ever bothered training them if _this_ was the culmination of his efforts when he heard a particularly loud set of flapping wings. Next to him, another eagle picked up the fallen form of Oakenshield and took off. Unlike Azog's orcs, the dwarrow wasn't dropped. Which wasn't to say the eagles might not still do something horrible to the dwarf. Not that Azog particularly cared either way.

A sharp cry made Azog cut his eyes back to his One—sailing away int he claws of an eagle. 

Now that? That Azog _did_ care about.

Azog gasped as the feathered beast _dropped_ his One. Azog whipped his head up at the sky, searching the trajectory of nearby birds. One flew under the crag of the cliff and Azog raced to the edge and jumped off. For a couple of breathless seconds he was airborne, then—

_"Squaaaawk!?"_

Azog landed squarely onto one of the eagles. It dropped and shook itself to no avail. Azog was firmly on the back of its neck and clutching its feathers with a vice grip. Below, his One had fallen onto the back of another eagle and was likewise clutching at the feathers of his captor. Azog roared and pushed down forcefully on his own eagle, causing it to screech indignantly and shoot down a couple of meters. From there, Azog gave it a sharp rap on the head with his boot as he launched off of it, and onto the back of the eagle with his One. The eagle Azog used to hitch a ride down squawked again and made a swipe at him, but he flattened down on top of his One.

"Get off of me, you heavy brute!" the halfling demanded, his knuckles were white and trembled over the feathers. Azog grunted and planted both feet firmly into the mess of feathers, clutching with all toes and the fingers of his remaining hand while his metal claw came up to the halfling's side, boxing him in and ensuring he wouldn't fall off to his death. 

With the eagles too afraid to try and shake Azog off, their flight was smooth, if guarded. Azog finally felt peace settle in his chest. His One was safe.

The halfling was muttering a colorful litany of curses under his breath while trying to stay as still as possible—something made infinitely difficult due to the fact that he was shaking like a leaf on a rainy mountainside.

Azog crooned deep in his chest, so that his One may feel it. He pressed tighter against its back in hopes of shielding it from the howling winds. Almost surprised, it looked back up at him with its sparkling green eyes and a small pout fluffing its lips. Azog snuffled encouragingly and put his face into its hair and breathed deeply. _"My Star,"_ he mumbled against its sweat-soaked mane.

"W-what?" the halfling sputtered. Ah, he was using black speech.

"Halfling," Azog corrected himself gruffly. The halfling didn't know it was Azog's One. There would be time for that conversation later.

"I'd prefer if you didn't call me that!" the halfling scowled. The browless ridge of Azog's eye cocked up. "Er, that is, I'm a Hobbit! Not a halfling, as I'm not half of anything!"

It was a fair description, the halfling—hobbit, was a kind of its own. "Hob'bit," Azog nodded. 

The hobbit nodded right along with him until he seemed to realize who he was with. "Er... I don't suppose you're going to try to kill me...?"

Azog made a choked noise

Maybe they needed that conversation sooner than he thought...

* * *

Bilbo squinted as the orc atop him made a noise akin to that of a dying pig and scrunched its nose up something fierce, as if smelling something particularly distasteful. The orc—Azog—had been curled over him protectively ever since he was first dropped. He wasn't sure if the orc had been there all along or if Bilbo's vertigo just made him more complacent to the whole situation, but there was still the matter of what it wanted.

Back on the edge of the cliff, Bilbo had seen the way its eyes bored into him. It was relentless in its course towards him, and had even helped him off of the tree. Which was not to say that Bilbo liked the orc for... Trying to save him? He supposed. Azog had in fact been beating up a rather good friend of Bilbo's—though the dwarf really hadn't done much to earn Bilbo's comradery, really—and was in the process of chasing all of his other dwarf friends to the edge of a perilous cliffside!

While Bilbo didn't appreciate their meeting, he did kind of like being protected. Or, at least, not killed.

"If you're not here to kill me, why stay with me at all?" Bilbo demanded. "If you're going to try to kidnap me and—and hold me for _ransom_ over my friends' heads, you've got another thing coming!"

The pale orc gave Bilbo a smile—or at least he _assumed_ it was a smile, and rumbled softly, "Only you."

"Me? Only me, what?"

"Here only for you," Azog corrected, his metal prosthetic cool and calming at Bilbo's side. The flap of mighty wings up ahead caught the orc's attention, and seemingly despite himself, he scowled at the visage of Thorin—clutched in the talons of a nearby eagle.

Bilbo puffed himself up at the look, "You stop that right this instant!" Azog's head whipped back down at him. "You said you're here for me, then mind me! I'm not going to be ignored for that sake of your obsession with Thorin!"

Azog's pointed ears angled back and he growled, _"Mabaj bot ob armauk!_ Oakenshield _viz!"_

Bilbo shrank back at the tone but sputtered equally indignant, "I don't even know what that means!"

Azog made another aborted growl, then chuffed at Bilbo. "Oakenshield like _bug_. No use to me." He pressed more firmly onto Bilbo's back. "Half—hob'bit _vir._ "

"...Vir? Isn't that what you just called Thorin? Are you calling me a _bug!?"_

Azog rolled his eyes down at Bilbo and wriggled in place. _"Nar viz. Vir._ Hob'bit _vir!"_ Bilbo moved to open his mouth and the orc cut him off, _"Vir._ Hob'bit my star. Hob'bit Azog's One."

Bilbo's brow furrowed as he burrowed back into the feathers in front of him. "Star? One? You mean.... Like an elf?" Azog's displease with that statement was palpable. "I only mean that—you mean to say that I'm... What? Your soulmate?" Azog nodded tentatively. There probably wasn't an orcish word for soulmate. "That's why you followed me? What, are you going to marry me too now?"

Bilbo was rather shocked when the orc nodded, more resolutely this time. In fact, he was so shocked, that he blacked out for a minute. Or two. Or ten.

* * *

Azog stared down mutely at his limp mate. Maybe he came on too strong? Wouldn't be the first time.

The eagles and their noisy packages were finally making a descent. Wherever it was that they needed to drop off these dwarrows, they were nearing it. Not good. He trusted his One to talk down his idiot companions—Azog certainly wouldn't bother—but his One was deeply unconscious and that put Azog in a weird spot. He didn't much care for the dwarrows; he pushed a good many of them out of their homes and killed even more, and he would never pass up a good fight, but it was obvious that his One was riding along with them _companionably_. Breaking their necks and basking in their blood didn't seem like the best way to get on his One's good side.

Azog pried one hand off of the eagle's back and took to lightly tapping the side of the hob'bit's face. "Wake. Wake now," Azog demanded, but still the little thing snoozed. It would be cute if the circumstance wasn't so dire. The eagles began circling a hill-like rock, and the first of them began touching down. Azog took the hob'bit's shoulder in his one hand and shook vigorously.

"Oh! My!" the hob'bit sputtered, finally waking up enough to be indignant again.

"Up," repeated Azog. "Hob'bit my One. I make happy. I don't kill dwarrow, if behave," he said pointedly while looking down at the gruff, furious dwarrows on the carrock.

The hob'bit blinked his stupor away and shot alternating looks between Azog and his dwarrows. "Oh my. Oh dear." He got a far off look in his eye and turned quickly back to Azog. "How do I know you're not lying? You expect me to trust you when you've hurt my friends? Who's to say you wouldn't hurt them again?" he demanded shrilly.

Their eagle started to glide down.

Azog rumbled at his One and put his hand into its curly mane, "Will not hurt dwarrows. _My word, by the forge of my soul, for you...!"_

The hob'bit gazed deeply into Azog's eyes. Its own softened at whatever they found in there and it nodded while rubbing its hands over its face exasperatedly. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe this. If you hurt them I'm going to kill you."

Good. Azog wouldn't have it any other way.

Azog nodded and lifted his top half up. The hob'bit followed suit and sat up—less confidently, though—and got ready to dismount from the eagle. The dwarrows waited, weapons in hand, down below.

* * *

"Bilbo!" Bofur called from the carrock, "Ye all right, lad!?"

"I'm fine!" Bilbo shouted back, happy to see his friends were safe. "I'm going to need you all to put down your weapons!" A mixed cacophony of angry shouting flew up towards him. "I know, I know! But there's something important you all need to hear!"

Gandalf stepped forward, always ready for the unexpected, dratted wizard. Bilbo felt Azog's flesh hand come up to his side and jolted a bit. The orc just stared down at him and began to slide them both off of the eagle. Bilbo exhaled greatfully as the orc pulled them gently to the ground. If he'd jumped down on his own it would have been hell on his poor ankles; as it was the fur on his foot was matted and scraggly. Bilbo patted the orc's large— _very large, wow_ —bicep and tutted over the state of his foot fur, gently prying loose a piece of tree bark from the honey curls before a cleared throat caught his attention and his head shot up. Right. Dwarves.

Gandalf was at the head of the welcoming party, but Dwalin was right behind him, axes ready to be tossed and scowl burning his face. Bilbo half stood in front of Azog and put up his hands in a placating manner, "There's been a bit of a complication."

Gandalf's brow drew up as he readjusted his hold on his staff, "Oh? Do tell, Bilbo."

Bilbo ignored the orc behind him mouthing his name and sighed heavily. "I'm... Not sure how to go about this..." Gandalf gestured grandly. Ugh. "I think... That Azog thinks... That I'm his 'One'? I think it's like a soulmate?"

At that, the dwarves gaped at him. Bofur's face paled several shades and he reached back to clutch at Bombur and Bifur's sleeves.

Bombur bounced nervously where he stood, "'One'? Are ye sure laddie?"

"Ah, well," Bilbo floundered. The Dwarves all pitched in their disbelief but grouped together quickly when Azog stepped out from behind Bilbo to talk right to Gandalf.

 _"Nar shakarlat. Negsh. Azog maprog_ Bilbo. _Azog koloz,"_ Azog then thumped his fist over his chest.

Bilbo watched as Gandalf's eye brows rose high. He inclined his head at the orc and Bilbo burst out, "What? What did he say?"

Gandalf seemed to come back to himself and coughed, "Something to the effect of protecting you. Whether I like it or not..."

Azog nodded in a self-satisfied way. Bilbo rolled his eyes at the display and pushed back in front of the orc, who readily let the smaller being handle him. Bilbo looked back at Gandalf imploringly, "So, he's not lying?"

Gandalf tutted ceremoniously and twinkled his eyes damneningly at Bilbo—also very self-satisfied, but also very reassuring— and he murmured, "There would be no point! It is not in an orc's nature to lie."

"Just as it is not in a dwarf's nature to _forgive!"_ Thundered a voice from the back.

Bilbo jumped at the sound and Azog immediately swiped Bilbo back behind himself and stood tall as the wounded king under the mountain came stalking forward, out of Oin's grasp. His head was bleeding profusely and his hair was a tattered mess. Worse of all though was the burning agony and fury in his silversteel eyes. Bilbo forgot for a moment that Azog had done more to these dwarves that he could ever hope to understand. Shit.

**Author's Note:**

> dont ask me for updates
> 
> ***and in an unshocking turn of events, i was asked for an update. [peaces tf out]


End file.
